


Whoever Fights Monsters

by EllieL



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Vignette, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adrenaline felt as if it left her system in an instant.  Post-"Irresistable"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoever Fights Monsters

  
****

The adrenaline felt as if it left her system in an instant, and she stood, suddenly trembling, before him.  She felt as if she might shatter, and let herself fall against him.  For a moment, he was merely still and solid and *there,* something to buttress her collapsing self. Then his arms came up, surrounding her, fortifying her as they pulled her into his warmth.

Now she did not have to fight or flee, and let the cleansing, wracking sobs vent the fear she'd been suppressing.  She allowed herself to melt against him for a few fleeting seconds, to draw reassurance and strength, and then coalesced into something, someone, stronger.

As she began to straighten and pull away, his breath ruffled the tousled hair by her ear.  "Are you okay, Scully?"

She looked up at him then, caught his eye and saw the myriad ways he meant it.  Cautiously, she nodded, once, and let him lead her to the paramedics.

He disappeared upstairs while the EMTs tended to her, probing ribs that were most likely broken and a wrist that had rapidly swollen to the point where it was impossible to tell if it was broken or merely sprained.  The cool dissociation of shock was descending on her once more as they tried to check for the concussion she knew she must have, having to focus with difficulty on their voices against the buzz of the other background sounds, sirens still arriving outside, dozens of feet on the hardwood floors, the rumble of conversations from the floor above.

She didn't hear Mulder return to her side, just felt the sudden warm weight of his hand on her shoulder, somehow not startling her the way it should have in that moment.  He squeezed gently, fingers massaging tense muscles just a bit through the battered gabardine of her suit.

"...should really get her to the hospital right away for x-rays of those ribs, and a CT scan of her head," she heard the older of the paramedics saying, speaking not to her but to Mulder, who'd by then crouched down level to where they sat.

Looking at him with wide eyes, she met his worried gaze with her own, knowing her fear showed, but too far gone to hide it.  He nodded, and pulled off his trench coat to wrap around her shoulders, surrounding her with his warmth.  "Let me drive her, I'll follow you guys to the hospital."

She followed him automatically, letting him tuck the coat closer around her and guide her to the waiting rental.  He said nothing, merely helped her into the passenger seat.

*

A combination of painkillers and trauma left her slumped half-asleep in the passenger seat, and he was loath to wake her as they pulled up to the hotel.  Fleetingly, he considered simply carrying her inside, but dismissed the idea, knowing she would not appreciate the gesture at any time, and especially not now.  She was tougher than she looked, to have walked away with only a sprained wrist and mild concussion.

He parked as close to the door as possible, then put a hand on her uninjured arm.  "Scully."

Her eyes shot open instantly, though the gaze they returned was groggy with Tylenol-3.  

"We're at the hotel.  I've got your overnight bag in the trunk."  She nodded, and he took that as the cue to get moving, retrieving her bag and meeting her at the passenger door with a proffered arm.  She surprised him by taking it.

"Are you all right with getting cleaned up in my room?  I can go--" he felt her shake her head against his arm, hearing this--"and see about finding us a flight home, and track down something to eat.  It's almost 4, I'm sure there's breakfast to be had somewhere."

"I'm not hungry," she answered.  "But I would like to go home."  It was the most she had said to him all night.

"Okay.  C'mon then."

Deliberately keeping his pace slow and even for her, he led them back to his room.  She said nothing as they entered, and he placed her bag on the second double bed.  They stood in silence, the space between them seeming to grow, before Mulder cleared his throat.  "Let me find my plane ticket, see if they can arrange something for later this morning."

Scully nodded sharply and began unzipping her bag.  "I want to take a shower."

"Sure.  Of course."  He stepped aside and watched her fumble through the bag for a few moments, gathering toiletries and clothes, and he finally turned away to dig his plane tickets out of his briefcase.  "I'll call United, see what I can find us."

He watched her disappear in to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her.  Just ten seconds he let himself stare at the blank white door with its dull brass knob, before settling down at the table and reaching for his phone.  Five minutes into the first round of holding, he heard the water cut on, pipes screeching over the dull elevator music emanating from the phone.

Two operators and fifteen minutes later, he had them on the afternoon's only direct flight to the nation's capital.  The water was still running, so he tapped on the door before opening it just a crack.  "I've got us on the 1:23 direct to DC," he called in as the steam escaped past him.  "I'll go grab some food while you finish up."

There was no reply, just the rush of the shower, as he closed the door and gathered his coat.  He looked back at the bathroom door once more before slipping the room key into his pocket and heading out in search of something fried and cheesy.

*

Jeanne's Diner opened at five sharp, and he'd had to wait for her to unlock the door and take his order.  Oatmeal for Scully was ready in moments, but his omelette and hash-browns had taken a bit longer.  He juggled the bag of take-out and cups of coffee and orange juice as he opened the door, nearly spilling the juice down the front of his shirt before finally getting inside.

The first thing he noticed was that the shower was still running.  Settling the breakfast on the small table, he shed his coat and approached the door.

"Scully?"  He rapped on the door, gently at first, then a bit louder.  "Scully, I'm back, breakfast is here.  I even got you something healthy.  And extra bacon for me, because I know you'll end up stealing mine anyway."

No answer came from the other side of the door, just the rush of water.  This time, when he cracked open the door, no puff of steam escaped, so he swung it a bit wider, taking in first the reflection in the mirror over the sink of Scully's bare, battered back, as she stood motionless in front of the half-opened shower curtain.

He cleared his throat and tried again, "Scully?"  When she didn't answer, he opened the door fully, exposing her nude form, standing on the bathmat, staring into the running shower and shivering violently.  The sight of her bare flesh was marred by the red bruises along her back and arms, some already turning to burgundy and purple.  Gooseflesh covered her, prickling against his hand as he put one hand on the gentle slope of her shoulder.  "Scully?"

She gasped then, leaping away from his touch as if shocked, and staring wide-eyed and unseeing at him as she sunk as far into the corner of the room as possible.  

"It's all right, Scully, it's me.  It's Mulder."  He took a step back and picked up her robe from where it sat, neatly folded, on the counter.  Unfolding it as he approached, he did his best to keep his eyes on hers.  "Here, let's get you warmed up."

She blinked for a moment, a tear spilling down her cheek as she finally seemed to see him.  Without a word, she let him wrap her in the robe, no longer meeting his eyes, and allowed him lead her to the unused bed.  When he pulled back the covers, she hesitated, but he tugged lightly on her wrist, urging her forward and down into the bedclothes.  She closed her eyes when he flipped the blankets back up over her, tucking them around her before settling down close beside her.  One hand stroked up and down her arm where the slick polyester comforter covered it, and he wasn't sure himself whether it was to warm or to comfort her.  Gradually, though, he felt her shivering cease, she she took a few long, deep breaths.

His arm stilled, resting on her blanketed shoulder.  Quietly, he asked,  "Do you know about my last case for VICAP?"

She shook her head slowly, burrowing further into the blankets.

"It was Jimmy Perry."

"The Yellowstone Hunter?"  She turned towards him a bit, brow furrowing.

"Yeah.  The press reports were just that he was killing female campers, hunting them.  But he wasn't just hunting them, he was field dressing them like a fucking deer, then eating their hearts."

Scully choked back something halfway between a gasp and a sob, but remained still.

"That's not why I'm telling you this.  I did the profile, worked the case.  It wasn't particularly difficult, as those types go.  Getting inside his head was easy.  But something about it....  Or maybe it was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

"What happened?"  It was almost a whisper.

He shrugged.  "I don't remember much after the flight back from Wyoming.  Some cyclists found me along the C&O Canal two days later, almost up at Great Falls, with a knife and half-dressed deer carcass, nearly dead from exposure."

"Mulder."

"Everyone knew how those cases affected me, but no one cared, as long as my getting lost in the minds of psychopaths left another one of them behind bars at the end of it all.  It didn't matter that I was getting closer to that myself, that I'd stopped being horrified and instead found in nearly impossible to step back into myself and the normal world at the end of a case."

She didn't answer him, but slipped one hand out of the tangle of blanketing to rest on top of his where it gripped her shoulder.  After long moments, he queried, "Ready for some breakfast?  You don't want the oatmeal to get cold."

Nodding, she rose and swung her legs over the edge of the sagging mattress.  "No, I don't."  A few sharp tugs straightened the robe that had twisted around her body, and aside from her puffy eyes, she looked composed as she settled at the small table and watched as he dug through the bag of takeout.

"Here," he said, placing two foam cups in front of her.  "I wasn't sure if you'd want orange juice or coffee."

"Orange juice is probably a better idea," she said, closing her eyes and sighing deeply.  Before she opened them again, he had the cup of oatmeal in front of her, and was settling down and opening his own platter, releasing the savory aroma of bacon and hash-browns.  "When is our flight?"

"Not 'til 1:23.  Direct.  You can grab a nap first, if you want."

Scully took a heaping spoonful of oatmeal and ate slowly before replying.  "No, I think I'd just like to go home."

"There's no place like it," he quipped.  It left a thin smile teasing her lips over the edge of her juice.  In that look, he recognized his parter once more within herself, and saw something of himself reflected back.  It was the look of someone who has firmly stepped back from the abyss, but was now cognizant of its depth.

****


End file.
